


The Good Times

by Thyme_Basalt



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Arson, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Roadhog's taste in music, Sexual Content, a lot of fluff, and Junkrat's questionable taste in music, attempted blowjobs, but let's be real here they're very high, some anti-government sentiments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 06:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13094550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyme_Basalt/pseuds/Thyme_Basalt
Summary: Junkrat’s got shit taste in music and can’t take a hit to save his life, but fortunately he has Roadhog to teach him.





	The Good Times

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WodensSkadi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WodensSkadi/gifts).



Roadhog revs his engine as he turns down the snowy rural road. He knows Junkrat will be waiting for him and even though his hearing isn’t spectacular, the distant purr of the bike’s engine will perk up his ears no matter where he is. They’ve been camped out in a beautiful home in the Rocky Mountains. Roadhog had found it on one of those websites where people post their homes for strangers to rent out. This one, a modern house with an excessive number of windows and a ridiculously angled roof, was easy for them to find. Earlier that late December day, they had popped open the back door, flicked on some lights, turned on the heat and suddenly they had a luxury getaway all to themselves.

As Hog pulls up to their temporary home, he sees a peculiar blob lying in the snow. It wiggles around in place as he approaches, tossing snow up around it. Even when the blob sits upright, Hog barely recognizes it as Junkrat. Wearing a thick red, winter coat, too-short snowpants and a hat with furry earflaps, he looks less like Junkrat and more like a freakishly large 10-year-old who has outgrown last year’s winter clothes. The high-waisted snowpants are more like snow capris on Rat and the winter coat doesn’t come down far enough. Not surprising at all is the fact that Junkrat isn’t wearing a shirt beneath it, so it rides up, showing his bare skin beneath it. The clothes belong to the home’s residents, so of course they’re not going to fit Rat’s unusually gangly body.

“You having fun?” Roadhog asks, scooping his grocery bags out of the sidecar and rubbing the small of Junkrat’s back with his free hand. “You’re fucking freezing.”

“I had a great time, mate! Out here in the great wilds with jus’ me, myself, the snow, these pine trees and look-” Rat says through chattering teeth. “I made a snow-hog!” He throws his arm out to point to what is a glorified ball of snow. There is a slight familial resemblance to Roadhog though, the outline of a mask poked into it and a rather large snow penis sticking out at the bottom.

“I hope you weren’t doing anything with that snow-hog.”

“Not yet,” Junkrat says, holding up a finger with a wide grin on his face. “But watch-”

Rat is about to dive mouth-first onto the snowy schlong but Hog snatches him by the back of the hood before he can.

“Save it,” Hog laughs. It’s almost bizarre how good it feels to be out here in this freezing weather with Junkrat. Rat grins along with him, happy that, even though he didn’t get to suck on a piece of snow shaped like his favorite penis, he made Roadie laugh that boomy, warm laugh.

“Roadie, Roadie, Roadie,” Rat chants his name over and over again as he shiver-hops his way through the door, shedding his winter clothes as he does. The door to the chilly outside isn’t even closed as his coat and snowpants are deposited on the floor, like an overly puffy snake just shed its skin, leaving Rat only wearing a thin pair of boxers (also stolen from the homeowners).

“Did ya get it?” Rat rubs his hands up and down his arms, shivering from cold and excitement. “Did ya get the good shit?”

Roadhog snorts behind his mask and hangs up his own coat like an actual adult. He holds the bags out to Rat and the man snatches them up greedily, before running over and dropping them on the kitchen table. He shuffles around, quickly growing frustrated when he can’t find what he wants. He dumps the bags out entirely, rolling onions and apples across the table and onto the floor.

“Roadie!”

Hog fishes through his coat pocket, tossing the sealed bag over to Rat. Wide orange eyes stare into the bag like he’s looking at a new wonder of the world.

“Look at these nugs, mate!” He holds it up to the light, squinting and biting his lip. “They got the good shit here!”

“They do,” Hog says, taking Junkrat by the arm and guiding him into the living room.

The idea came to them when, upon their first exploration of the house, they stumbled on the couple’s extensive collection of marijuana paraphernalia. Rat was immediately thrilled with the idea of getting their own weed and making use of one of the couple’s bongs that looked like it could be worth as much as Hog’s bike. Rat had only grown up with the ditchest of ditch weed in the Outback, he deserved to smoke some of the quality weed Hog knew he could find here. The two had smoked over the years when they could get their hands on it, but Junkrat is still a relative newbie with way more eagerness than knowledge or experience.

Hog settles down on the couch and it groans a little under his weight. Rat drops down next to him, sidling up with his pointy chin on Hog's bicep, watching his hands work. Roadhog picks up the metal grinder, tiny in his huge finger, giving a nod to Junkrat to open up the bag. Rat’s teeth clamp down on the corner, tugging at the airtight seal. Hog is about to scold him, but Rat’s teeth are rather sharp and he rips it clean open with little struggle.

“Woah!” Junkrat shouts as the smell hits him in a wave. “Surprisingly fruity!”

“And weedy.” Roadhog pushes his mask up, feeling the cold air on his cheeks and the sweet, skunky scent on his nostrils. He places the mask carefully beside him on the seat, ignoring Rat as he tries to side-eye ogle him. Something about his gaze is oddly intense. Just as Hog cocks his head to look at him, Rat dives in to kiss him on his scarred cheek. By the time he reaches it, Hog had moved his head towards him and Rat catches the side of his mouth with his lips.

“Hey!” Rat squawks indignantly. “I was aiming for this-” His fingers trace up and down the burn mark scarring from his jaw to his cheekbone on the right side of his face. He doesn’t usually touch it with this much intensity, his eyes widening and focusing as if he can see the world on fire like Hog did all those years ago.

“Stop,” Hog says, lips pressing to Rat's palm. He's not sure he means it, but he reflexively says it whenever Rat gets too intense.

His companion takes it in stride, never wanting to push Hog's intimacy boundaries and he sits back on the couch, throwing his arm around the back of the cushions.

“Alright, love, light me up!”

“Patience…” Roadhog finishes grinding the weed and carefully sweeps out the residue. He packs the bowl of the elaborately crafted bong, not too tightly because he knows the pyro in Rat is going to try to light it all.

“Light.” Before the word is even all the way out of his mouth, Junkrat is holding a lit flame out to him. Hog has a passing wonder if Rat is secretly some sort of pyromancer, able to summon flames with a snap of his fingers.

“You have to be careful with the flame or you'll waste all the weed, yeah?”

Rat nods vigorously, rolling his eyes. “I've smoked with ya before, Hoggy.”

“And I'm speaking from my past experiences with you.”

Hog takes Rat's hand in his and presses the flame to the herb. It crackles as Hog breathes in, the water bubbling with that distinctive sound. The thick, white smoke builds and builds until Hog lifts the bowl and clears. Smoke fills his lungs and he holds it, keeping it in until it's almost uncomfortable, his lungs begging him to remember he's not as young as he used to be. He exhales and for a moment, Hog thinks he got through with no problem, a true badass, just as tough as he used to be, but his lungs hitch and he starts coughing, leaning over with a fist covering his mouth. It's not a great look when he wants to impress his less experienced partner, but Rat's not judging him. Nope, it's worse. Rat's worried about him and he bounds over the back of the couch to fish through their supplies for a can of Hogdrogen.

“I'm fine…” Hog gasps between coughs. “Rat- really.”

Rat slides back over the couch with the yellow metal clutched in his hands. “Ya sure, mate? Ya know ya don't gotta be tough for me, right? I already know yer a big pussy.”

Hog nods, trying to suppress the last few coughs.

“Alright…” Rat says cautiously as he tosses the canister onto the coffee table, metal dinging on the glass surface.

“Your turn,” Hog turns to bong to Rat. “Go ahead and light the rest, I'll lift the bowl when you should clear it.”

Rat's good at following directions when he wants to be, lighting and sucking in on the mouthpiece. His eyes dart from the building smoke to Hog, back and forth, waiting for Hog to lift it.

“Clear it. C’mon, I've seen you suck much harder than that.”

The joke makes Rat start cough-laughing in the middle, breaking his seal. Hog clamps his hand over the top, trapping the remaining smoke as Rat has his own coughing fit.

“Yer a fucker.” Rat says, drool sliding out of the corners of his mouth.

“You're finishing this.”

“It hurts,” Rat whines flopping over with his head on Hog's lap. Hog rolls his eyes and finishes the hit for him.

Twenty minutes and two more hits each, the two of them are laying in a puddle of warm, heady inebriation. Roadhog’s stripped down to his own underwear to match his partner.

“Love the way this feels,” Rat mutters dreamily, his fingers trailing up and down Hog's hairy chest.

“My chest hair?” Hog lets out a huffing cough.

“Mmhmm… it's soft like a puppy or somethin’.”

“Have you ever touched a puppy?”

“Yes… no… wait yes. Wait…” It's so hard to tell what’s Rat's atrocious memory and what's the weed.

Hog rubs his thumbs into Rat's hair. “Your hair feels like a puppy too.”

“Does it really?” Rat looks up at him with wide, seeking eyes.

“No,” when he sees Rat's face fall, he amends. “But sometimes you remind me of one.”

“I'll take it,” Rat says, snuggling deeper into Hog's lap.

For a few minutes (though it's hard to tell exactly how long, because time is just a concept and that concept is moving pretty slowly right now), they let the sloth hold them in place: comfortable, satisfied, safe. Then Hog gently shakes Rat's shoulder.

“We gotta do something or else we'll fall asleep.”

“Mmm,” Junkrat's voice is distant, as he nuzzles up to the warmth of Hog's crotch. “Wha's wrong with that?”

“I didn't buy this weed so you could fall asleep. Coulda just stolen some of the sleeping pills.”

“Okay…” Rat says with a sigh. “It'll be a lazy blowjob if yer okay with that.”

Rat paws at band of Hog’s underwear, not really trying to get in there and hoping a more sober individual would sweep in to pull Hog's dick out for him.

“I was thinking more like listening to music.” Not that Hog’s one to say no to a blowjob but he's nowhere near aroused and Rat doesn't seem like he's about to put in his A-game to get him there.

“Music?” Rat rolls away from his crotch to stare up at Hog around his belly. “What kind?”

“Whatever you want.”

His orange eyes light up with excitement. “I'd love to!” Rat pulls their tablet out of Hog's pocket, eyes struggling to adjust at the screen for a moment. “The fuck am I doin’ again? Oh yeah!” He taps on screen. “I discovered a new band that I wanted to show ya! Didn't think you'd be interested.”

Hog picks up the remote from the table, clicking on the massive TV built into the wall.

“Hooley Dooley,” Rat mutters in wonder as he gapes at the swirling colors of the TV booting up. Hog tugs the tablet away from Rat while he's temporarily shorted out by this beautiful display of American excess and he syncs the device up to the TV so audio can come out of the house’s 24 point surround sound speakers.

“What are you looking for?” Hog asks, offering to help him navigate the technology.

“Oh! It's a band called Blood Faucet. They're very underground. A bloke in London told me 'bout em. There's a song called Yellow Scream. Find that one.”

Hog already knows this is not going to be good as he treks through the band's janky webpage dripping with spooky fonts and promising “new, unafraid, transcending noise metal, unlike any the world has ever experienced.” Finding the play button for Yellow Scream, Hog closes his eyes and braces himself.

All 24 speakers let loose a soul-rending, eardrum-bursting screech, something like a banshee getting fucked by a herd of shrieking goats. It's abrasive, loud and absolute shit. No one should have ever made this music. It's an insult to the shittiest of shitty music to even call this music. He wants to put on a strong face for Rat, give it a little bit of a listen so he can give reasonable critiques, but he can't. He needs it to stop and be wiped from the face of the planet.

Junkrat's face falls as Hog slams on the pause button before it's even 15 seconds in.

“God, Rat. Do you really like that?”

“It's metal, mate! Lots of people love metal!”

“No, it’s not.” Hog presses a hand to his forehead, willing it to leave his brain forever. Once he can look his partner in the eyes again, pity rushes over him. Rat must not know much music, growing up in the wasteland didn’t exactly give him a wide repertoire. “I’ll show you.”

“Oooo, alright, mate.” Rat says excitedly. “Roadie’s gonna teach me.”

Hog racks his brain back to his youth, way too much time listening to old-school metal and hard rock. He could never get into the newer stuff. He remembers a classic band out of Sydney that spoke to his rebellious streak in his youth.

“You’ll like this one,” Hog says with a knowing smile as he punches it into the tablet. [T.N.T.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6_Y3zbRxZ6Q)

The singer’s nasally voice joins the chorus of “oi oi oi oi oi” and immediately brings a grin to Junkrat’s face. By the time the chorus hits, Rat’s hopping in place on the couch.

_“Cause I'm T.N.T., I'm dynamite / (T.N.T.) and I'll win the fight / (T.N.T.) I'm a power load / (T.N.T.) watch me explode.”_

Rat leaps to his feet and does an awkward flailing dance on the coffee table, stomping his peg on the glass in time with the chanted “T.N.T.” All Hog can do is roll his eyes, watching and ready to catch him if he falls, until the song peters out in a cacophony of drum hits and guitar sweeps.

“Reminded me of you,” Hog says, passing a glass of water along to Rat as he climbs back down to the floor.

“‘Course! ‘Cept the part ‘bout disrespectin’ women.” Rat chugs the rest of the glass, before letting out a small belch. “I never disrespect women.”

“You’ve never respected anyone.” Hog points out as he plucks the glass from his hand before Rat drops it.

“Fair,” Junkrat strokes his chin. “But I disrespect them equally to men. Which I think makes makes me a feminist.”

“If you say so,” Roadhog says, queuing up the next song. “Another one. I want you to listen to the lyrics.”

Rat sits rapt as the [new tune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9E7nrO_mU1Q) fills the air.

_“Deadly as the viper / Peering from its coil / The poison there is coming to the boil / Ticking like a time bomb / The fuse is running short / on the verge of snapping if it's caught.”_

Narrowing his eyes up at Hog, Rat tries to read his expression. Hog’s determined to keep it neutral.

“I don’t think this one’s about bombs,” Rat muses, biting his lip.

_“And all the pressure that's been building up / For all the years it bore the load / The cracks appear, the frame starts to distort / Ready to explode / Jawbreaker.”_

“I dunno, mate,” Rat’s deep in contemplation about the possible deep and complex meaning of the song. “This sounds like it’s about a gobbie…”

Roadhog can’t hold in his laughter anymore, bellowing out a loud, rumbling chuckle that shakes his whole body. Rat’s truly confused, cocking his head up at him.

“Ya really did just play a song ‘bout a fuckin’ blowie, mate?”

“Jawbreaker by Judas Priest. You’d know all about jawbreakers, wouldn’t you?” Hog says, quite pleased by the joke he set up for himself.

“Yer a right cunt,” Rat grins as the guitar launches into a long, masturbatory solo.

Roadhog plucks up a small glass pipe shaped like a frog, loading the bowl. Junkrat had been drawn to the piece immediately when they were ransacking the weed room, planting his lips on the frog’s and asking Hog over and over if it was turning into a prince. Now that they’re sure it’s not going to turn into any member of a royal family, Hog takes the hit, inhaling in. Seeing this, Rat pulls himself up to Hog’s level, hands roughly gripping his cheeks as he directs Hog’s mouth to open. He brings his face closer, their lips almost touching. Hog exhales out into Rat’s open mouth, watching as he breathes in the pluming smoke. The smaller man holds it in for an impressive amount of time before letting it out in a few coughs and ragged breaths.

“Ya ever give a gobbie to a jawbreaker, Hoggy?” Rat wheezes, wiping his drool on Hog’s shoulder.

A grunt is given as affirmation.

“How big? Big enough to break yer jaw? You’ve got a real big jaw.”

Hog snatches up Rat’s arm and encircles a thumb and forefinger around Rat’s forearm. “Bout that.”

“Fuckin’ Christ, Hog.” He scratches the back of his hair, a flash of self-doubt in his eyes. “Sorry if I’m not… that.”

“Don’t need that,” Hog presses Rat’s head down so he can see the screen as he types in a new song. “You’re already a lot to handle.”

Rat titters, leaning back against him. “Am I plenty big enough for me Hoggy?”

A grunt.

“Say it.”

“...”

“Say it.”

“...”

“Sayitsayitsayitsayit-”

“You’re plenty big for me, Rat.”

In the end, Hog’s willing to embarrass himself to make Rat shut up. A dizzying, ear piercing screech of laughter peels out of the little shit as he jumps up, swaying on his feet, trying to keep himself upright. Hog shakes his head and offers a hand.

“Wha’s up next?” Deft fingers spin Hog’s rings around on his thick fingers.

“[’The Pot’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SOOgbgRV3Ug) by Tool.”

“Is ‘bout pot?” Rat asks, eyes bleary as they focus on the screen.

“Might seem like it…” Hog presses play.

_“Who are you to wave your finger? / Ya must have been out of your head.”_ The ominous rumbling of the bass joins in with the singer.

Rat can be an excellent listener when properly motivated. Right now, he wants to enjoy the music, to absorb it, understand his partner a little better by the music he’s showing him.

“It’s about hypocrites.” Hog says finally.

“Hypocrites?”

_“When you pissed all over my black kettle / You must have been high, high. / You must have been high, high.”_

“You ever heard the phrase ‘the pot calling the kettle black’?” Hog asks as Rat tries to wrap his head around the lyrics.

His partner shakes his head, now drumming along on his thigh.

“It’s an old idiom, like you are criticising someone for something that applies to yourself.”

“I know what a hypocrite is, mate,” Rat says. "I jus’ don’t get how talkin’ pots come into it.”

_“Foot in mouth and head up asshole. / So what you talkin' 'bout?”_

“They don’t… It’s just the title.” Hog sighs. He’s not going to try to explain the usefulness of this idiom when he’s high. It’s always seemed a little dense to him.

“I hate hypocrites,” Rat says as he bobs up and down to the building of the music. “Everyone chasin’ us around the world tryin’ to bring us to ’justice’ deserve to be locked up themselves.”

Hog grumbles low and rough, a tone that always encourages Rat to go on. Rat can talk a lot, but Hog loves nothing more than hearing him go on about the injustices of the world, the power systems that should be taken down.

“Fuckin’ cops especially…” Rat’s on his feet now, hands gripping Hog’s shoulders. “They’re comin’ after us for stealin’ shit? Cops and the government can ‘legally’ steal from people all the fuckin’ time.”

“Sure do,” Hog snarls. “Money, property, land…” He knows too well.

“And the suits!” A metal fist strikes at the air. “We’re stealin’ from them but how’s that any different than what they do?”

“It’s not.”

“‘S not right, mate,” Rat sinks down beside him, closing his eyes as Hog’s fingers squeeze the back of his neck, calming him back down.

“I know.”

A heady, thick silence passes between them as the song abruptly ends and a new one autoplays.

“You wanna play one of your songs?” Roadhog offers. Rat’s been an attentive listener long enough that Roadhog feels a pang of guilt for writing off Junkrat’s music immediately.

“Leave this on,” Rat says, swinging his leg over Hog’s as he mounts onto his lap. His hands lock behind Hog’s head.

[’Sober’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GqmRDV0a_70) by Tool comes on next and it’s a rather fitting tune for the inebriated make-out that proceeds. Nothing pulls Hog back down to earth than Rat’s loving mouth. Time moves deliberately and it’s easy to get lost in sensations. Rat’s having a hard time remembering to breathe while Roadhog’s hands rub against every inch of lean muscles, thumbs pushing into his stomach and hooking into the band of his underwear. It’s all uncoordinated, slow and languid.

They ignore their collective stench of unbrushed weed breath and sweat as they slowly press their lips together, tongues lazily sliding into each other's mouths. Hands rub and squeeze and fondle, grabbing onto any skin, any softness or hardness. Both make attempts at sucking the other off and neither gets too far, and that's okay. Just to feel the warmth of his mouth is better than any drug. Rarely do they get to chase pleasure without the need for an explosive end. Hog savors every moment of it.

Sometime after the fifth Black Sabbath tune in a row, the duo finally succumbs to the weed stupor. Roadhog is spread out on his back, hair undone, mouth hanging open with Junkrat squeezed between his warm belly and the back of the couch (or “between a Hog and a soft place” Rat had muttered shortly before drifting off). They wake in the morning when the automatic video play selects Wolfmother’s [“Joker and the Thief”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kLN1eRA8m2Y) and it eases them from their peaceful slumber. 

They stretch their groaning limbs, regretting their decision not to drag themselves to the owners’ big bed, regretting not drinking more water, regretting that they left the heat on so high and their sweaty limbs are sticking them to each other. They regret all of that for about fifteen seconds before their eyes lock and they share a moment of closeness that only comes when recalling a night of intoxicated laughter, the good times that might just take hold in Rat's fleeting memory. Rat says something stupid, like he always does when things get serious. Hog rolls his eyes and plants a kiss on that sticky forehead that probably spent most of the night jammed into his own armpit.

They stay at the cabin for a while. They go hiking in the woods and see if they can cut down an oversized tree to fit in the living room. Hog teaches Junkrat about what it’s like to really celebrate Christmas: stealing various items from around the house, wrapping them up and gifting them to each other. He tries to explain the concept of Santa Claus, the naughty and nice list, the North Pole. They cook a good Christmas meal together before igniting the tree and the pile of recently regifted items. Just around the time you’d expect Santa to be flying over their home, the Junkers are embracing in the front yard, peacefully watching as the blaze engulfs the impossibly-shaped modern home.

Rat slips his hand into Hog’s pocket to hold his warm hand. Hog smiles back behind his mask as Junkrat’s fingers find his own and bump against glass. Confused, Rat pulls out the little frog pipe.

“Aww, mate, you kept it!”

“Something to remember this by,” Hog says, letting the better part of sentimentality get to him.

Clutching the pipe in his hands, Rat’s whole face glows with affection and with the light from the rising inferno.

“Think Santa will still stop in on us?” Rat says over the crackling of their house-sized yule log.

“I don’t think he was planning on it, fire or no.”

“Damn… maybe next year?”

“Maybe next year… If you’re good.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for wonderful [WodensSkadi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WodensSkadi/pseuds/WodensSkadi)! We had a fun time brainstorming this fic. She's such an awesome and supportive friend and great member of the Roadrat community. We're lucky to have her.
> 
> Thank you to [VolatileSoloist](http://archiveofourown.org/users/volatileSoloist/pseuds/volatileSoloist) and [Silly](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunchles/pseuds/Scrunchles) for betaing for me!
> 
> Come chat with me about your Roadrat stoner headcanons (or anything) on Tumblr! [Thyme-Basalt](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/)


End file.
